


Le Plus Qu'il Change

by edibleflowers



Category: Popslash
Genre: F/M, Genderswap, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-16
Updated: 2012-09-16
Packaged: 2017-11-14 08:21:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/513221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edibleflowers/pseuds/edibleflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>JC gets genderswapped. Lance doesn't deal well. Joey deals a little too well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Le Plus Qu'il Change

**Author's Note:**

> Even though Helen wrote the definitive girl-JC fic, this one wouldn't leave my brain. No offense is intended, but rather tribute of a high order. _Le plus qu'il change, le plus qu'il reste le même_ : the more things change, the more they stay the same. (Thanks to V for the French.) Um. It's an angst-monster, because, yes. thanks to Aly, for liking it. heart you, girl.

_well we all have a face  
that we hide away forever  
and we take it out and show ourselves  
when everyone has gone_

_some are satin, some are steel  
some are silk and some are leather  
they're the faces of the stranger  
but we love to try them on_

* * *

Lance just stares. Somewhere in his brain, he can feel himself starting to get angry, but it hasn't quite hit him yet.

"Oh, fuck--" Joey jerks up in surprise, and Lance starts, again, seeing what Joey's bare back had been hiding. JC's face is -- almost -- the same, if distorted with growing shock, but there's no denying the female body beneath Joey. Female, with JC's face and distinctively wiry arms, and breasts.

"Lance, wait," Joey, struggling into pants, says. Lance turns, his stomach rising, making it almost back to his room before the retching starts. Dizzy, he leans over a small canister, watching stringy bile hack from his mouth.

He wipes his lips and keeps going.

* * *

"JC's a girl."

"Yup."

Justin stares at JC, now dressed in a loose t-shirt and jeans and curled into a corner of the couch in Justin's room as if trying to disappear. Then he looks back at Chris, as if his affirmation of Justin's observation gives him some kind of authority in the matter. Chris shrugs.

"Don't look at me, kid. You think I know what's going on or something?"

"Does this happen a lot?" Justin keeps glancing obliquely at JC, as if he can deal with the new appearance as long as he doesn't have to gaze head-on at him.

"Sometimes," JC says hoarsely. His speaking voice is a few shades higher than normal, but it's still recognizable by the accent and slightly nasal tones; it's still undeniably JC. "Usually we're not on tour, though--"

"That time you went to Bermuda for a month?" Chris interrupts him. "Or, like, when you wouldn't let anyone see you after the trial?"

JC nods, guilty and dark-eyed. Girl-JC is waifish, slender, with generous breasts and a face both demure and thoughtful. Fucking pretty, Justin thinks, then revises it upward: downright beautiful, even JC's nose seeming perfectly in place in the symmetrical, seraphic face, and his eyes are darker and wider with a heavier fringe of lashes.

"But Joey'd go over your house. I remember -- ohh, oh shit," Chris breathes, as JC flinches.

"What?" Justin asks, shaking himself out of the contemplation of JC's eyes.

* * *

"Fuck. Off."

"Jesus, Lance, you have to let me explain."

"I don't have to listen to a damn thing you say," Lance sneers, hunched over his drink, over the bar.

The bartender glances their way. "He bothering you?" she says to Lance.

Lance stares into his glass, morose, gives a quick negative shake of his head. "You let me know if he does, honey," she says, and moves off a little, polishing glasses. The hotel bar is nearly deserted at two in the afternoon. Joey sits down next to Lance.

"So, how long have you two been fucking?"

"Uh." Joey reaches for a stray napkin, then pulls his hand back, restraining himself from fidgeting. "Only when. You know about this girl thing, right?"

"Didn't before, but I guess I do now." Lance tosses back the rest of his drink, waves for another, his eyes hard and cold.

"Uh. Well, it -- it just happens to him, like, every once in a while. And, uh, the first time, he just kind of freaked out--"

"When was this."

"In '99, when we went to Bermuda."

"I thought it was just him."

"No, he. He asked me to go, 'cause I saw him. After the change. So I told everyone I was going to New York, so nobody would suspect."

"And we fell for it." A humorless smile, and Lance looks at him, a lazy, cool gaze reflecting nothing. "So you were fucking him then?"

Joey flinches. "Yeah. Look, I knew -- I knew you guys were together. We all did. It just. I don't know. It happened. And--"

"It doesn't just fucking happen." Lance's voice is low and bitter. He sighs, rubs the back of his neck. "Anyway," he prompts.

"We -- when he changed back, we decided not to say anything," Joey continues, numbly. "It just seemed so surreal. Like a bad acid dream or something. And we came back, and you guys were so happy together. But, God, Lance, I couldn't forget what he was like."

"So you two just screw around behind my back when he's a girl? That's some fucked up little arrangement you've got there, Joey." Lance drinks again, thumps his glass down hard on the bar.

"No shit."

"Jesus. It's. Fuck. I don't even know what it is. Is it cheating if your boyfriend only sleeps around when he's a girl?"

"I didn't -- I never wanted to--"

"Well, you did." Lance drops his head to his hands, elbows on the bar. "Just. Go away, Joe. Go away. I need to be alone."

Joey reaches out to touch Lance's shoulder; then, thinking better of it, he gets up and quietly leaves.

* * *

"Well, I guess we'll have to postpone the dates," JC says, once Johnny has been brought up to speed via speakerphone. The long conversation has meandered through possibilities of ways to keep the tour going, including the suggestion that they tell everyone that JC is sick and his parts being danced by a replacement; none of the ideas seem plausible, though, and Johnny's voice is tired when he agrees with JC about the tour dates. _This is all my fault_ , JC thinks miserably.

"All right," Johnny says. "I'll do some rearranging. Just how long will this last?"

"I'm not sure," JC says, sighing. "Usually not more than a month."

* * *

"Sleep in your own fucking room," Lance yells. "Or fucking sleep with Joey, I don't fucking give a shit."

JC jumps back as the hotel door slams in his face.

"Come on," Chris says. "He's just drunk. You guys can talk tomorrow." He grabs JC's arm, leading him down the hall. JC wobbles a little, pliant, unresisting and so light it scares Chris.

"I think I need a drink," JC mumbles.

"So, you and Joey, huh?"

"yeah."

"Dude, that's pretty fucked up."

"Yeah, tell me about it."

* * *

Lance doesn't reappear for two days. On the third, he shows up, tousled and unwashed, for the group meeting: Justin pounded on his door, yelled, finally used the spare keycard and roused Lance from bed by physical effort. Lance stays silent and aloof in the background throughout the meeting.

"Okay," Johnny says over the phone in the hotel conference room. "I got the tour dates put off through July. Told them JC has laryngitis. There's a statement out now, you'll be expected to comment."

"Right," Justin says.

"Limiting public appearances right now, because you're all concerned about JC, yadda yadda. Until August, it looks like you've basically got a free month. JC, if you should happen to change back earlier--"

"I'll call you first," JC promises. Lance scowls.

"All right. I'll get the current information out to you, but you might as well take some time and enjoy yourselves while you can," Johnny suggests, and the meeting is over.

As they file out of the conference room, JC hangs back, waiting for Lance, a look of desperate appeal on his face. Lance walks by as if JC isn't even there.

* * *

"Goin' home" is all Justin can get out of Lance.

"Dude, are you sure--"

"Yes, I'm sure. I need to get away from all this shit for a while." Lance slams his suitcase shut, grabs his duffel bag, and pushes past Justin, out the door.

"Fine. Screw you, too," Justin mutters after him.

* * *

"Well, I'm going back to Orlando," Chris says. "What about you, C?"

JC shrugs. "Might as well."

Chris angles a look at JC. "Dude. You really need to cheer up."

"Well, fuck, Chris--" JC runs a hand through his limp hair. "I ruined my relationship with Lance, how the fuck do you want me to feel?"

"You do know you couldn't have it both ways forever," Chris points out.

"Kinda hoped I could," JC says, sullen.

"How do you feel about Joe?"

"What?"

Chris smirks, gathering up some notes and pens from the desk. "You heard me the first time."

JC blinks at Chris for a few moments, then falls back on the bed, folding his arms on his stomach (bare, Chris notes; JC is sporting a flattering cut-off shirt, and Chris idly wonders how he'd look in some of the FumanSkeeto clothes). "I don't know. I mean, I love him like I love all you guys. Fuck. He's great in bed--"

"TMI," Chris mutters.

"You asked."

"I didn't need to know that."

JC sighs. "I don't know, okay? I just. Feel comfortable around him, or I did, anyway. He doesn't treat me weird when I'm like this, he treats me like normal."

"More or less," Chris observes with a snort.

"Look, if you're just going to make asshole comments--"

Chris grins. Pausing from stuffing clothes into his bag, he raises an eyebrow at JC. "Well, obviously you think he's hot, or you wouldn't be sleeping with him."

"Why did I even bother saying anything?" JC mutters, rolling his eyes. Chris ignores him.

"I bet you liked him even before you turned into a girl."

"Maybe." JC flushes. Chris crows.

"Dude, you need to talk to him."

"No, I need to fucking talk to Lance." His plan of action thus decided, JC stands up, heads for the door. It opens before he can reach it, Justin sliding the spare key into his pocket as he strides into the room.

"Hey, Jup," Chris says.

"Lance just left," Justin announces.

"Oh, fuck," JC says, and sinks down against the wall.

* * *

JC finds Joey in his room. Unlike the others, he isn't packing; he is, instead, sitting on the bed, flipping channels.

"Hey," JC says.

"Hm," Joey says.

"Can I, uh, talk to you?"

Joey turns off the television, drops the remote to the bed beside him. "Sure."

JC sits on the corner of the other bed. "So, uh. I guess -- I guess we should quit."

"Yeah," Joey says, as if the idea has just occurred to him as well. "Yeah, of course."

"'Cause it was -- you know. Just a bad idea in the first place, and I should have just told Lance when it first happened."

"Yeah." Joey gets up, moves restlessly around the bed.

"I -- I guess I just wanted it all, you and Lance."

"Fuck," Joey says softly. His hands are in his hair, gold and brown and hints of red splayed between his fingers. JC thinks that his voice sounds kind of strangled.

"You, uh, you okay?" JC asks.

"This is just. harder than I thought it'd be," Joey says. "I mean. I know it was just supposed to be fun and all. but." He heaves a breath. "You should. you should go."

"Okay." JC gets up. "I'll see you in Orlando."

"Yeah."

* * *

Joey goes to New York instead, and spends two weeks crashing on Janine's couch. It's good, he thinks, his old neighborhood, his city. Everything is familiar and safe and sane there, which is a measure of how weird his life is when he thinks New York is safe. At any rate, he thinks, things don't go suddenly changing appearances into disturbingly beautiful versions of themselves here. Or they do, but you know they're changing, because there are signs and warnings and construction and remodeling. Things don't just appear without warning.

At the end of the fortnight, Janine kicks him out. With the insight she always seems to possess, she informs him that she's sick of his mopey attitude, and that he had better go fix whatever the hell he messed up in Orlando.

He hugs her at the airport, thanks her, because she's a good big sister. He wishes he was flying somewhere else, like maybe Nepal or South America. But he's promised Janine that he'll set things right, so he boards the flight without looking back.

* * *

JC feels lost in Orlando. He has to get a hotel room, for one thing, because Lance won't talk to him and he can't stay at Lance's house anymore. Lance's house, he's already thinking that it's not theirs anymore, and that crushes him. He kind of wishes one of the others had offered to let him stay with them, but he understands; they're a little freaked.

He doesn't have to disguise himself in public, which is nice, one of the few things he enjoys about the change. It's disorienting, though, when he's used to at least one ever-present bodyguard and constant recognition, welcome or otherwise, everywhere he goes. He may be adept by now at being a girl, but he can never quite grasp being normal. Probably, he thinks, because it's hard to remember a time when his life was normal.

He spends his time in his hotel room, mostly, writing and watching TV. Sometimes he goes out to a movie. Chris calls him, and they do stuff like bowl and go to car races. Justin stops by and they talk a little, every now and then, but JC can tell that Justin is uncomfortable, and doesn't blame him when he leaves a bare half hour after he showed up.

He doesn't hear from Joey at all. He thinks that it's for the best. If there's no contact, maybe Lance will see that he's sincere and take him back.

He thinks: that's fucking pathetic.

* * *

JC finally gets tired of waiting for Lance to call him, or maybe just tired of waiting in general, so he drives over to the house, Lance's house, one bright afternoon two weeks after they all came back to Orlando. Lance's SUV is in the garage, the door up as if Lance just came in, maybe. JC goes to the front door, giving in to a moment of hesitation, then knocks. Feels weird, knocking on his own door. There's no answer, but he thinks maybe Lance could be in the back, so he rings the doorbell a few times in quick succession, nervous finger jumping on the button. _Bye bye bye_ , the buzzer seems to sing. _Bye bye bye_.

Lance appears after a few minutes. He looks tired. He's wearing a loose pair of white pants and no shirt. He stands in the doorway while JC fidgets.

"Look, uh. I know you don't really want to see me, but I thought maybe we should talk. You know, for the good of the group and all."

Lance's eyes remain blank for a long moment. Then he gives an indifferent shrug and turns, so JC follows him through the foyer and out into the garden. It's above the pool, a semi-private, roofed area where visitors can look out and see the eating area without being seen by anyone below. JC can remember interludes they've had here, once or twice during parties when they could have been caught. He shivers.

The ground is littered with cigarette butts, and JC isn't surprised when Lance lights up. Lance only smokes when he's very stressed. JC used to lecture him about it because of his heart, but right now, he knows his words would fall on deaf ears.

Lance leans back on a bench, bare feet in the grass, taking a long drag off of his cigarette. "So, talk," he says.

JC draws one leg up to the bench. Recognizes his posture as defensive, but he can't help it. "I never meant to hurt you," he starts, without knowing why; Lance flinches, closes his eyes, and JC takes a deep breath. "If you don't ever want to see me again, I'll understand. But when this first happened--" One hand jerks towards himself, indicating breasts, the feminine body. "--when it first happened, I was scared to death. I thought you wouldn't touch me, that you'd hate me or something."

Lance shakes his head, his eyes still closed. JC stares at the ground, because he can't take looking at Lance anymore. "Joey came over, like, that day, to hang out, and he saw me. I couldn't -- couldn't prevent it. And he was the one who suggested going ahead with the Bermuda thing, because I was, I was fucking ashamed, okay?" JC doesn't swear much, but he can hear his voice trembling now, and he hates the estrogen in his system.

"Why?" Lance says softly.

It's a perfectly reasonable question. "I'm not sure," JC says. "It's not like I have anything against women. I just, it felt so wrong, like I was in the wrong skin, and I couldn't stand to look at myself in the mirror or even to have the lights on sometimes. Like, just looking down and seeing myself. It freaked me out." He draws another breath in, letting it out slowly. "So. We, uh, we went to Bermuda. He told you this, right?"

"I want to hear it from you."

That gives JC encouragement, despite Lance's monotone. "I'd been planning it anyway, you know, had all the vacation stuff taken care of. So he told everyone he was gonna spend some time in New York with Janine, and he booked the flight and went with me. Which, I mean, it was good because I was falling apart, I couldn't talk to anyone and I damn sure didn't want them -- you -- anyone -- to see me like I was."

He has to stop, just for a moment, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead. Sighing, he pulls his other leg up onto the bench, wraps his arms around his knees. "So Joey went and got me clothes and stuff, basically kept me from going crazy, which I thought I was for about a week. He treated me like normal, and it worked. I started to kind of get used to it, as much as you can to suddenly being female." JC dares a glance at Lance, who still has his eyes closed, or is maybe staring at the ground; he can't tell. "And then, um, we went dancing at this bar one night, and he kissed me. And at first I was just shocked, because, you know, it's Joey. He felt horrible about it. We." His words run out, because it's so hard to reconstruct the memories without being caught up in them; the way Joey had just leaned forward and pressed his mouth to JC's, and JC's startlement, excitement, swiftly followed by embarrassment and outrage and guilt.

"You slept together," Lance says, and the bitter edge blistering his voice sends horrible chills into JC's stomach.

"We did. I guess I was kind of curious to see what sex would be like as a girl, and. Joey was attracted to me. --Still is," he amends with a grimace. Can't lie about that, or pretend it didn't happen. "And so. I."

Fuck. He says this, it's over; he knows it. He lays his head on his bony knees for a moment, sighs again. "I wasn't even drunk. I kissed him again, and I pulled him into my room, and we had sex."

Everything's very quiet. There's a soft twitter of birdsong, incongruously pretty and innocent, in the trees above them. JC leaves his head resting on his knees, hating himself more than he ever has in his life. The emptiness in Lance's eyes, when Lance raises his head to look at JC, makes JC want to die.

"Okay. So you had sex. You came back, you turned back into a guy, and we picked up like normal."

"Yeah," JC says, his voice small, and he can't stand the soft lilt of it. "And I thought it was over. Then, then when I changed again, I called Joey because I--"

"Because you wanted to fuck him again."

JC tries to remember if he's ever heard Lance's voice this upset, this hard. Maybe during the early days of the trial, but he's not sure. "Because I wanted his support."

"You wanted his fucking cock," Lance says in a lazy, silken drawl.

"You know what?" JC puts his legs down and gets up. "Never mind." His head's spinning as he strides out of the garden, and all he can think is that he's tired of Lance's hateful snarky comments, and sure he deserves it but Lance doesn't have to be that much of an asshole, and as he reaches the front door he wonders if Lance is going to come after him, make him come back and finish the conversation.

He's not surprised by the fact that he isn't stopped. He hurts anyway, though he doesn't want to.

* * *

When Joey gets back into town, he calls Chris and Justin to let them know. Chris tells him where JC's staying, and Joey debates going over to see how JC is, but then decides not to. Instead, he calls the hotel room.

JC answers after a few rings, breathless. "Yeah?"

"Hey, um, it's Joey."

"Oh, hey." JC's voice goes subdued. Joey can hear water behind him.

"I didn't interrupt anything, did I?" Joey asks.

"Nah, I was in the shower. I -- hang on a second."

Joey waits, hearing the sound of the water go off, trying hard not to think of JC's wet body. Sleek and naked and iridescent with soap, like the one time in his big shower when he'd fucked JC up against the tile, holding his wrists over his head. JC afterwards, wrapped in a towel, slender and laughing.

"Okay. So what's up?" JC says, and Joey fights the automatic urge to reply with some obscene comment.

"Nothing, just got back. Wanted to see how you were doing."

"Just got back? Where were you?"

"I went to see Janine," Joey says. "Just to get away from everything for a bit. You know."

"Yeah."

Joey doesn't know what to say. It feels awkward. He hates it; he's known JC for over ten years now and they've never been this uncomfortable. "Um, oh, so have you talked to Lance?"

The eye-rolling is almost audible. "Yeah. I don't know if it's going to work out. He's still pissed off at me. I don't blame him, though, so. Maybe when I change back--"

It's wishful thinking, Joey knows, but he feels comforted by JC's ever-reliable hope, however faint it might be at the moment. "Maybe," he agrees. "So why are you staying in a hotel?" Changing the subject is a cowardly escape; he does it anyway, craving some normalcy in their conversation.

"Oh, well, it was kind of weird, Lance doesn't want me there, obviously, and no one else said anything, so I figured they were just too freaked out and it's not so bad--"

Spaz, Joey thinks and smiles. "Why don't you check out and stay here? I mean, I still have a bunch of clothes from the last time." Maybe it's a mistake, the offer, but he knows he has to try.

"I don't think that's such a good idea," JC says warily. "I mean, can I come by and get the clothes, at least? But -- I don't know, I don't think it'll look too good--"

"Yeah," Joey says. "Of course." If he wants to reconcile with Lance, shacking up with Joey, even on a platonic basis, probably isn't a good way to go about it. "Okay, well. Thought I'd offer."

"Thanks, man. I appreciate it." JC pauses, then, "I'll come by tonight and get the clothes, all right?"

"Sure," Joey says, and then concocts some excuse about needing to call Kelly to see how Brianna's doing so that he can get off the phone.

He doesn't really have to call Kelly, but he does anyway, and it turns out Kelly's exhausted and needs a break from Brianna, so he invites her to give Bree to him for a few days. Kelly drops her off a half hour later, gives him quick, terse instructions, a hug, and a strange look, and leaves.

Joey's playing with Brianna on the familyroom floor when the doorbell rings. "Come in, C," Joey yells, not moving.

"How'd you know it was me," JC says as he comes into the room. Joey sees his ankles and the platform sandals he's wearing. He's been shoe-shopping, Joey thinks; his ankles, raised by the heels of the sandals, are svelte.

"Cause you're the only idiot who rings my doorbell instead of just coming in," Joey replies. "Say hi, Bree."

Bree burbles ecstatically at JC and makes hands at him, grasping motions. JC laughs. Joey scoops her up and hands her over easily, and JC cuddles her, murmuring soft baby-talk at her.

"So you've got her for a few days?" JC asks. Joey heads into the spare bedroom where JC's girl-clothes are packed into drawers, and JC follows, bobbing Brianna in his arms. Bree squeals and giggles with each bounce, the epitome of baby cuteness.

"Yeah, Kelly needed a break, so." Joey starts tugging out small piles of shirts, pants, underwear, stacking them neatly on the bed. He's usually a slob, but for some reason he's got this stuff all folded and everything. "I figured since we're going back out on the road in, what, a week? week and a half? that I'd better take the chance to see her while I could."

"She's growing fast," JC comments, offering a finger for Bree to grab. Bree latches onto it, chubby fingers wrapping tight around his finger; then she scrunches up her face thoughtfully, as if wondering what she's supposed to do now. She grips tighter, and JC laughs. "She's got an iron grip here."

Joey finds a bag and puts the clothes in it while JC continues to dandle Bree, who adores the attention, sucks it up as if Joey hasn't been devoting himself to her all afternoon. Joey watches them out the corner of his eye. He can't help but think it's cute. JC is freakishly maternal. Finally, Bree begins to fuss, and JC gives her back to Joey.

"She's hungry," Joey says, pulling the bag's handles together and offering them to JC. "I'm gonna go get her bottle. You want anything?"

"A Coke?" JC asks. Joey leads him back out to the kitchen; JC drops the bag in the entranceway, by the front door, while Joey puts Brianna's bottle on to warm, then pours a glass of Coke for JC, neatly holding Bree in one arm the whole time. _He's turning into a real father_ , JC thinks, and feels proud and amused. Joey, supposedly the least responsible of all of them, is handling paternity better than anyone expected.

They keep the conversation deliberately light while Joey feeds Brianna, tucking her into the curve of his arm and holding the bottle with a practiced hand. JC talks about the song he was working on this morning, about how Chris wants them all to go out to some club tomorrow night, and how some girl in IHOP actually recognized him, but then apologized profusely when she saw that JC wasn't exactly male.

Joey laughs at that. "Best disguise you coulda come up with," he comments.

"I wouldn't recommend it," JC mutters. "You'd make an ugly girl."

"Fuck you, Chasez," Joey smirks. Brianna lets out a sleepy hiccup, and Joey puts her over his shoulder to burp her. "I'm going to put my daughter to sleep. You need help with that bag?"

It's a dismissal, and JC accepts it. He likes the comfortable ease with which they can still talk, wishes he could stay, but he knows it would lead to other things, and he doesn't want that to happen. He just wants to go back to being friends with Joey and lovers with Lance.

He takes the bag and leaves while Joey is in the bedroom with Brianna.

* * *

Three days later, he wakes up with his old body back. He stands naked in front of the mirror, staring at himself, for a good twenty minutes, just reassuring himself: everything's present, the things that weren't supposed to be there are gone, and he's his plain old normal self again. The inspection is a ritual, now, after the first time he changed back and actually felt like something was missing. But everything is present and accounted for, and he's relieved.

The first person he calls is Johnny, as promised; Johnny gives enthusiastic congratulations and starts making plans to get them in place to pick up where the tour left off. They have to do a press release that JC's over his laryngitis, so they'll all be called into the Compound within a few hours. JC acknowledges that and then hangs up.

The second person he calls is Lance. Lance mutters, "That's nice," and hangs up. JC feels like crying.

He calls the others, waking Chris and Justin from hangover-induced sleep, and both congratulate him while simultaneously swearing about the earliness of the hour. They're getting more like each other each day, JC thinks, and wonders when they're going to realize it. Then he calls Joey, who is awake, preparing Brianna for a return to her mother's.

"Great, JC, that's good news," Joey says, but he doesn't sound too happy about it.

* * *

They resume the tour at the appointed time, and the rhythm picks up like it had never left: tour bus, hotel, soundcheck, fans, press conferences, interviews, fittings, business meetings, concert, tour bus. JC didn't lie, he does find the comfort of sleeping on the bus more relaxing than in a normal bed; the hum of the engine, the constant noise from the wheels on the pavement, are steady white noise in his ears, and the gentle rocking of the bus usually eases him to immediate sleep.

But he thinks about Joey and Lance on the two-man bus, and he can't sleep. He stops Joey when they're checking into the hotel, early in the morning, and asks him if everything's all right. Joey nods, bleary-eyed. "Sure. Why wouldn't it be?" he asks.

"Lance isn't, like, bugging you because of--?"

"He's not talking to me, if that's what you mean. But no, we're not beating each other up in there."

JC has to be content with that.

* * *

Lance seems to relax as the tour progresses. Something must give, maybe Chris gives him a talking-to one day or something, because he drops down next to JC in the quiet room one afternoon and says, "I'm sorry."

JC looks up from his notebook, guileless, wide-eyed. "Sorry?" he repeats.

"For going all asshole on you when. You know."

"Oh." JC processes that. "it's cool. You had every right to be upset."

"Forgive me?"

"Sure," and JC is definitely bemused now.

"Is it going to happen again?" Lance asks.

"What? The, the changing into a girl thing?"

"Yeah."

"I hope not," JC says feelingly. "But, um. I don't know. It could happen. It's sort of, you know, unpredictable."

Lance smiles a little. "You know, the hardest thing was hearing Justin and Chris talk about how hot you were. Like you weren't hot when you were a guy."

JC smirks. "They just don't know how to look." And then, "so. um. I'm still hot?" because he's insecure, after all, and he thinks Lance just paid him a compliment.

Lance nods. "I. and. I missed you."

JC wonders if it's possible for his heart to shatter again. "Lance," he starts to say.

"I know. I shouldn't do this. I've been keeping you hanging, and it's not fair to you. You don't have to say yes, you don't have to--"

"Are you trying to ask me to go out with you again?" JC asks suspiciously, looking at Lance from beneath lowered eyebrows.

Lance looks down, the blush evident on his face. "Yeah. I am."

"I. um. I might turn into a girl again."

"As long as you don't sleep with Joey again, I can live with it."

JC winces, but the words are delivered without any malice, and he smiles when Lance reaches over and takes his hand, brings it up to his lips.

"Okay," JC says.

* * *

Joey doesn't really like the fact that JC and Lance are back together. He's not even sure why. He just doesn't like it. He thinks Lance is being manipulative (shock!) and JC is being a girl (not surprising, all things considered); he's sure JC hasn't thought through things and wondered if maybe, just maybe, Lance is making this grand gesture, taking JC back, so he can hurt him worse later on, or maybe if Lance is doing it because JC's easy and sappy and believes Lance intrinsically, so Lance doesn't really have to work for it.

Joey's sure that Lance is only doing JC because JC is there. He's also sure that JC is in love with Lance.

When he tries to point this out to JC, JC gets pissed off and yells at him, so he doesn't bring it up again. He converses with Lance like normal on the bus, again, until JC offers to switch with him one day and he does it just because he doesn't want JC to think he doesn't, God, approve or something.

He watches them a lot, though, and worries.

* * *

"Dude, JC's kinda hot," Justin shouts at him one night. They're in a gay club, so that JC and Lance can grind together on the dance floor, which they're doing now. Joey watches without watching, seeing but not wanting to see.

"What?" Joey yells.

"JC--" Justin points. "Hot," he says, largely, as if explaining it to a three-year-old. "You're totally staring at him."

"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about," Joey says.

"You're not, like, in love with him or something, are you?" Justin gives Joey a piercing look, one Joey doesn't like at all. Chris comes over and throws his arms around Justin's neck, giving him a wet smack on the cheek, and Justin starts laughing in protest. While Justin's thusly distracted, Joey gets up and leaves. Hails a cab and goes back to the hotel.

He takes a shower because the smell of smoke and alchohol is pungent and disgusting all of a sudden. While the hot water pours down on him, he puts one hand on the tile and the other on his rock-hard dick, filling his mind with images of JC as a girl, his wet kisses, the deep wine hue of his nipples, the soft damp heat between his legs and how he tasted.

When the image changes into JC as he is now, flat torso long and lean, an erection curving along his belly, Joey swears and comes, and then leans heavily on the tile, dazed.

 _Fuck_.

* * *

It goes like that for the rest of the tour. Joey starts counting days until the last date, and even though they still have stuff to do, promoting the single, the movie, and he's really not looking forward to the whole press junket for that because it's just going to be him and Lance, what joy!, they'll have a week off before anything else starts, and he's looking forward to just sitting in front of the television, drinking beer and doing absolutely nothing.

So they have the last concert, and everything's fine, so fine, he just can't stand it. Chris and Justin are ecstatic because it goes so well, and JC and Lance are making out backstage during costume changes, and Joey just pours all his energy into the show and does his best to blank his mind about the rest of it.

It's anti-climactic to stumble into his house after the plane ride home. Chris drops him off, giving him a sympathetic look, and Joey is grateful to Chris who has been the most quietly supportive throughout this whole nightmare. Joey's happy to be alone, though, because he's tired of catching himself checking out JC's ass, and wondering if he still kisses the same.

He goes out and gets laid the next night, but it doesn't help. He wonders if he needs to meet someone else to get over JC, because clearly he is far too gone on JC, infatuated, and while JC is not the world's worst choice of someone to be in love with, JC is also a major dork and a space case and plus he's in love with Lance, so it really doesn't matter, does it?

* * *

JC calls him the night after.

"Hey, Lance had to go out of town for some kind of FreeLance meeting. I was wondering if you wanted to come over and hang out."

Joey tries to put him off, but JC is as persuasive as always, and Joey is weak. JC is his siren's call. He's just waiting to crash on the rocks and drown.

JC has made dinner, which is surprisingly good, some kind of Mediterranean thing that he says Lance hates so he rarely gets to eat. Joey likes it and makes sure to say so, feeling spiteful, angry that Lance would dislike something about JC, especially when JC has been really working on learning to cook and could use the encouragement.

They sit outside with beers until it starts to rain, and then they run inside the house, laughing. The rain hits fast and hard, soaking them to the skin in an instant. Joey stares at JC, and then tears his eyes away, because JC's ash-grey t-shirt clings to him like a second skin, and the jeans are tight and wrinkly, and Joey remembers those legs all too well. JC's hair shrinks into frizzy curls, too, reminding Joey of Justin's old afro, and when they're inside, JC shakes it out, flinging water everywhere.

"Hey!" Joey protests, laughing as he's spattered.

"What do you care, you're already wet," JC grins. Joey grabs him and flings him over his shoulder, and JC fizzles with hilarity, grappling at Joey's back, yelling and gasping for air. Joey tosses him down on the couch. JC sprawls, grinning up at him, his eyes sparkling with sapphire mirth.

"Fuck, Joey, this is, like, leather," he says.

"Screw the leather, it'll dry," Joey says, and kisses JC.

He can't stop himself. He knows, every part of him, that not only is this JC, it's _male_ JC, and Lance's JC, and they're in Lance's fucking house, but he can't stop kidding himself and he. can't. stop. kissing. JC.

JC moans beneath him, lanky muscles rippling, writhing, the shudder shaking itself into Joey, sudden and sharp arousal. JC's long hands press at Joey's back, then slide under and push at his chest. Pushing him away. Joey breaks the kiss with a rainy gasp, opens his eyes, stares at JC.

"You should go," JC says.

"I should go," Joey echoes him. Blood roars in his ears. He knows exactly what he's doing. He doesn't want to stop.

"You shouldn't be with him," Joey says. "He's going to hurt you."

"I love him," JC says.

"I love you," Joey blurts, and that's worse, that's so much worse, because JC's face goes white and hard as if he's been slapped. Joey gets up, watches JC rise to his feet, slow and deliberate.

"You should go now," JC says.

Joey makes it to the door, moving on auto-pilot. He can't think, his brain is somewhere past stunned, and all he's sure of is that he's fucked things up beyond all recognition.

JC stands at the screen door and watches him. He can feel JC's eyes as he walks to his car. Fuck this, he thinks suddenly, and turns, goes back. JC stares at him with an impassive, dark gaze.

"It's true," he says. "I can't stop thinking about you. I hate the fact that you're with him because he lies to you, he's doing it to get what he wants, and you believe him--"

"Joey." JC's voice is full of all the emotion his eyes deny. "It wouldn't matter even if it was over between me and Lance. You only like me when I'm a girl. It wouldn't work out. Would you wait for it?"

"No," Joey shoots back, startling JC, apparently, who takes a step back. "I won't, I can't wait for it, I think about it all the time because I want to be with you, I get drunk on you--"

"Shut up," JC says.

"--and when he's with you it makes me think about you, how good it felt when we had sex, your face when--"

"Stop it, Joey, please," JC begs.

Joey shoves sopping hair out of his face, breathing hard, his lashes spiky and waterlogged. "I'm not leaving, JC, I can't. I don't care. I love you."

"I don't love you," JC says, his voice cold, and Joey flinches hard, his whole body rippling backwards. "I don't. don't want you anymore, Joe. Go away."

Joey stares through the screen door at JC. The rain falls loud around him. Joey raises a hand as if he's going to say something. Then his face darkens, and he turns, walking away.

JC wants to say _"I'm sorry--" "Don't go--" "I love you."_ Instead, he watches Joey get into his car, listens to the engine start, sees him pull out and drive away.

* * *

Joey drives for a while. He doesn't really care about the fact that he's soaked to the skin and starting to shiver. He turns off the radio when the music begins to, seemingly, target him, every song another needling reminder of what he's just utterly screwed up.

Eventually, he goes home, stopping at the liquor store on the way.

* * *

He acts like everything's normal when he and Lance go on the week-long press junket for _On the Line_. They goof around, tease each other, giving the reporters, interviewers, cameras, a good show. Lance doesn't talk to him much when he doesn't have to, though. That's fine with Joey.

At night, he hears Lance's voice rumbling through the wall that splits their rooms. The first night, it's more or less what he expects: the phone-sex voice, and the bed squeaking a little, and Joey goes into the bathroom with his headphones to wait it out. The next night is quiet, though, and the third night Joey hears what sounds like an argument. Lance's tone of voice when he argues is flat and low; he doesn't raise his voice, but Joey hears the tone and knows something's wrong. He hates himself for being glad about it.

On the fifth night, Lance comes to his hotel room and offers to go out drinking with him. Joey shrugs, puts on his shoes, and goes to some bar Lance has found that's out of the way and fairly low-key. They throw darts for a while until Joey kicks Lance's ass, and then they sit at a table in the back and nurse beers while a golf game plays over the television screens.

"So, uh. JC told me about the," Lance says.

"The kiss?" Joey says, arching an eyebrow.

"Yeah."

Tiger Woods makes a putt to bring himself 13 under par. Joey watches him, thinking about whether he should take up golf. It seems like a relaxing thing to do. "You mad?"

"Kind of," Lance says. "But. I don't know."

"You're not really that mad," Joey says, "or you'd be kicking my ass from here to Pakistan."

"True."

"Not that you could kick my ass even if you tried."

"Fuck off, Fatone."

Joey smirks and finishes his beer, reaches for the pitcher and refills his glass. Lance has barely finished half of his first glass.

"So what's the deal? You going to tell me to stay away from your boyfriend?"

"That would sound pretty stupid, wouldn't it?" Lance's eyes track to the television. Fred Cousins is teeing off now. "I know you have more sense than that."

"Obviously not, or we wouldn't all be where we are now."

"I'm breaking up with him," Lance says.

Joey's gaze jerks from the big-screen TV to Lance's face. Lance is still staring at the TV, as if he's just commented on Cousins' game. "What?"

"I decided. It's not working out."

"What about JC? How does he feel about it?"

"He's not happy with me. He says he is, but I can tell."

"He's in love with you."

"I know. He'll get over it."

"Lance," Joey hisses, and Lance finally drags his eyes over to meet Joey's. They're clear, so pale, and suddenly Joey sees the depths and the hurt and realizes that this isn't as easy for Lance as he's making it sound.

"He should be with someone who really cares about him," Lance says. "I can't do that. The girl thing. That was only part of it."

"Did you. Why did you take him back during the tour, then?"

"I thought it would work." Lance flicks a glance to his beer, as if he's just remembering the glass in his hand, and takes a long drink. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. Joey rubs his eyes. His head is starting to hurt. "I was wrong," Lance says. "It's not. So. When we get back, I'm going to break up with him."

"Why are you telling me," Joey says warily.

"Because I have to fucking talk to someone, and Chris won't give me the time of day, and Justin is too wrapped up in Britney to notice anything that goes on outside his little bubble. And I was hoping that you would still be my friend after all this was over."

Joey nods, a bit dazed. He drinks some more beer and keeps rubbing his eyes. "I never wanted to not be your friend," he says. "But. It's all been so fucked up."

"Maybe it won't be now," Lance suggests, and the smile he gives Joey is heartbreakingly natural, and so easy for Joey to return.

* * *

When they get back, Joey finds himself hard-pressed to keep the news to himself. Chris comes over the first day to hang out and play video games, and Joey has to practically hold his hands over his mouth to stop himself from spilling the beans. He still doesn't know whether to be excited or not, although he's glad just because JC won't be with Lance anymore, but he feels guilty about the whole thing. He is, after all, the reason they broke up in the first place, more or less.

Two days after Chris's visit, JC shows up with a couple of big suitcases at Joey's front door. His face is tear-streaked, and his eyes are puffy, but he seems calm. "We broke up," he says, and Joey lets him in, hesitant to offer a hug. When he does, JC falls into his arms and stays there, so limp he might be comatose.

"It'll be okay," he breathes in JC's ear. JC shakes his head, but he lets Joey lead him to the kitchen and sit him down, waits while Joey heats up some of his mother's chicken soup. He doesn't eat very much, saying he's tired and wants to lay down, so Joey fixes up the guest room and takes off JC's shirt, tucks him into the white comforter. JC's already curled around a pillow, and Joey can hear the faint sobs before he closes the door.

* * *

"How's JC?" Lance asks the next day, on the phone.

"Not too good," Joey says. He can't get JC out of bed for anything, not food or a shower or anything. "I'm making my mom's lasagna now. He usually likes that."

"Let him deal with it," Lance says. Joey's tempted to snap at Lance -- _if you know how to deal with him, you do it, because you're the one who caused the problem_ \-- but he knows that's just spite. "He'll be okay."

"I hope so," Joey says.

Lance goes on to talk about some interview he's got for On the L, and asks whether Joey's interested in coming along and contributing. Joey turns him down, it's not him they're interested in; he knows Lance is just offering out of politeness, out of that desire to rekindle their friendship. After he hangs up the phone, he hears a shuffling sound and turns around.

JC is standing in the entranceway to the kitchen, leaning against the wall, frighteningly thin in an old pair of jeans and nothing else. "That was Lance?" he asks.

"Yeah," Joey says, putting the cordless back on the counter and reaching for the next layer of pasta.

"He say anything?"

"Just wanted to know if I want to go do some interview thing with him. I said no." Joey layers the flat noodles over the meat sauce.

"Okay." JC disappears again, before Joey can say anything else.

* * *

JC does gradually get better, though he doesn't do very well when Lance calls and asks, kindly, if he wants to come over and go through the CDs and books to see what's his. Joey takes the phone away and suggests that they wait a while before bothering with that. He snaps a little, and Lance sounds taken aback and says, "sure, whenever, no rush," and Joey hangs up and puts his arms around JC.

He wonders if he's waiting for the moment when JC will turn to him and say something about realizing how wonderful Joey's been the whole time, and he'll kiss him or something and everything will be good again. He chides himself, saying that's not going to happen, especially when a livelier JC, a couple of weeks later, says something about how he should probably start looking for a place of his own now,

"because I've been imposing on you for too long, man, and I'm starting to get an itch to have my own place, you know?"

"Sure," Joey says, so they go out driving one day and look at houses, and he's glad that JC is showing signs of life. He's glad. He is. They stop at Lance's after, and pile CDs, books, various stuff, personal things, into a couple of boxes, with Lance's help. JC pulls Lance into a quick, nervous hug before they leave, and then smiles at JC in the car.

"That went well," he says, smiling.

* * *

The more JC gets serious about buying a house, the more Joey doesn't want him to go. He's tired of denying it, because he likes having JC there around the house, leaving his shirts draped over the back of the couch, his weird food in the fridge, his shoes in the bathroom even when Joey trips on them in the morning and curses. He likes hearing half-composed melodies floating around, and he likes cooking for JC. And it seems like he's beating off to the fantasy of fucking JC a lot lately.

So when JC finally crows that he has the perfect place, "come on, Joey, you have to see it, you'll love it," Joey resists.

"You don't have to move out, you know," he says.

"Sure I do," JC says, looking confused. "I'm, like, totally encroaching on your space. You don't even bring anyone over, and I know that's gotta be cramping your style."

"I could if I wanted to," Joey mutters. That makes JC's head come up sharply.

"You don't want to?"

Joey shakes his head at himself, but oh well, he said it, might as well own up to it. "I don't," he says, and looks at JC across the kitchen table.

"Oh," JC says. And then, "oh," again, in a softer, more confused voice.

"I'm still," Joey says. "I'm still in love with you. So."

"You've got the fucking patience of a saint," JC blurts, and they both laugh. "I'm serious, Joe. What the fuck? Why didn't you say anything?"

"I thought you knew," Joey shrugs, smiles. "And besides, you'd just broken up with Lance and all. It would have been, you know, not cool to make a move. I wanted you to get over him."

"Instead of me being on the rebound?" JC asks. Joey nods. "Well, um." JC looks down at the printouts of houses, grainy pictures and abbreviated specifications lined up in neat little boxes. "I'm. I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," Joey says. "If I'm making you uncomfortable -- I mean. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said it."

"No, I'm glad you did." JC picks up his pencil, connects lines and dots on the page. "I guess I'm just a little scared to rush into things, you know?"

"Yeah." Joey stares at the paper, the comic section, which he'd been reading before JC had burst out with the excited news about the house he wants. Dilbert is saying something funny to Dogbert. Joey stares until the lines separate and twist in his vision. "I'm gonna," he says, and gets up, abandoning Dilbert to Dogbert's mercies.

He's in the utility room, folding laundry, when JC comes in, silent, slipping across the tile floor barefoot and quiet as a ghost. Joey doesn't hear him, doesn't realize he's there until JC's arms come around his waist, JC presses himself to Joey's back, and he takes a sharp breath and then exhales when he realizes that it's JC's slender warmth.

"I wish you'd said something," JC says into his shoulderblade.

"It wouldn't have been. very smart," Joey says softly.

"When did you..?"

"When did I realize?" Joey asks. JC nods, chin round and stubbly against Joey's spine. "I don't know exactly. Maybe during the break in the tour. I know I was jealous of Lance when you guys got back together."

"You want me now? I mean, like this?"

"I want you always," Joey says, not caring how stupid it sounds, and JC pulls him around and puts his hands on either side of Joey's face and kisses him.

Sex is slow and hesitant at first, because Joey's familiar with his own body and JC's as a girl, but not with JC's as a guy, and touching him, the hard dick, the soft place behind his balls, is alien and a bit discomfiting. But JC groans and arches just like he always did, and Joey knows that more is the same than is different. And he gets used to it quickly enough, because JC is still hot, his wet kisses tasting the same; and when JC's bare cock rubs against his, it makes him groan and push back.

Joey wants to take it easy the first time, but JC begs him to fuck him, so Joey finds some massage oil and a condom and finds that JC feels the same there, too, more or less, a bit tighter and hotter, and Joey doesn't even feel a bit strange about taking JC's cock in his hand and pumping hard. JC makes little mewling whimpers when he comes, silky white spurts over his abdomen and Joey's hand, and it makes Joey come in a draining, breathtaking rush.

When they curl together after everything's cleaned up, Joey's head still spinning, his limbs heavy, weighted with pleasant exhaustion, he puts a possessive arm over JC's waist and growls in his ear, "Don't buy a house."

"Don't want to," JC says.

"Good," Joey says, and as he closes his eyes, he feels JC's fingers sifting through his hair, hears him murmuring something that sounds like,

"it was you, it was always you, Joe,"

and Joey suddenly couldn't care less about the next time JC turns into a girl.


End file.
